Blood Pact
by katiaroza
Summary: The world that I had known my entire life was far different than the world that was mine. The world that I was destined for; born for. . . All Middle-earth. OC Language, dark themes and torture.
1. Prologue

_- -This intro was not what I had originally planned to start this story off with, but after writing an assignment for my lit studies, I decided that this would do just fine. Much better than what I had written down before. I know its not too great, and its kinda jumpy, and I plan on revising it, but it probably wont be soon. I'm gonna focus on getting the next chap up on this one and all my other fics first!!--_

**.warnings. **nothing too bad, swearing violence, I'm gonna keep it M anyway, cuz thr are some mature and dark themes

**.disclaimer. **again, I totally do not own LotR, and nor will I claim too...it all goes the great and wonderful Tolkein

* * *

**Blood Pact**

**-_-Intro--_**

The world that I had known my entire life was far different than the world that was mine. The world that I was destined for; born for.

That world that I had come to know as mine, was nothing but a lie. It was a weak facade, fabricated to protect me, and I was taught to masquerade within it from birth. The truth would eventually lead me to a discovery far greater than anything I ever could have fathomed before. A truth so great, so utterly destructive, that too many would die to protect its secrets.

By learning that truth, I learned that I was its secret, the only thing that could betray its existence. And for that, my own existence was forbidden.

They have taken everything from me. My past, my present, and my future. I have never known anything but pain and fear because of them. The protectors of this truth, and the destroyers of everything I had ever known.

There is no escaping who I am, and from the moment I was aware of that, I knew exactly what it was I had to so. I had to die. It was just so simple. The world that was mine, was a world that could never allow someone such as myself to exist.

Looking back, I know that I have made mistakes in my quest for vengeance, and nothing I do now, will ever rectify those mistakes. But now I know exactly what it is I have to do. I made my choice days ago, and there is no going back on it now. My quest for vengeance is over, and now, I must seek to keep those I love from harm's way,

It is the only that I can keep them from dying. I can never again allow them to be hurt by what I am, by what I was born as. The only way I can ensure that is with my death.

I am not afraid of death, and I never have been. I have never wanted to die, and perhaps I still do not, but nonetheless, I welcome it with open arms. If only I regret one thing, it would be knowing that I leave behind those whom I love so dearly, it hurts to think of leaving them. Yet, I leave happy, knowing in my heart that they will be saved from this awful threat.

I was never supposed to be, and yet, people have died over my existence. They have died because I am, and they have died to keep me alive. People I loved have died, and they have been hurt. I am not a hero, and nor have I ever claimed to be, but this is the only way to stop it all. With my death, it will be settled.

It will be done.

* * *

-_ - Alright, I know that sounds really epic, but its really not. I'll post the first chap soon and you'll see what I mean - - _

_--Kat--_


	2. Chapter One

__

- - Alright, I will admit here and now that this story starts out rather dry. Mostly a lot of monologue-type stuff. The really juicy stuff doesn't come until later. Sorry!!

- I know most of you will want to kill me for screwing with the canon so much, but hold on, I'm not gonna make it one of THOSE fics. Promise.

**.warnings. **not a lot for now. some swearing. darker stuff, especially later on.

**.disclaimers. **obviously i own nothing from the mind of the great Tolkein.

* * *

**Blood Pact**

**_- - Chapter One - - _**

* * *

_" . . . .A . . .. .dri . . ... .e .. . . . "_

Her hands clasped over her ears, seemingly to block out some undesirable sound or noise. There was no noise to be heard, however, only the wind passing by, trying to steal her hair along on its quest. Her hands left her ears to grab the dark strands back, neatly tucking the locks back.

She hugged herself as she stared out on to the valley below, the thoughts in her head about as concentrated as the long grass blowing down below with the wind. Her eyes stared blankly, raking the barren landscape with her gaze. The overcast skies, the brown prairie grass, the hilled valley, freckled with rocky outcrops . . . these things were nothing new to her. This valley especially, the valley that had been her home longer than she could remember, the valley that held so many memories, so much pain, the valley that still carried her mother's voice . . .

She had never been one to think of herself as one who believed too strongly in spirits or the afterlife. The thought of life and death itself was a concept too vast for her to want to contemplate. When she had first heard the voice on the wind, she'd given it then to the grief she had been holding in her heart at the time. There was no more grief to be found there, not much more of anything, actually. There was nothing left for her to rationalize with. The voice was there – her _dead mother's voice_ – was still there, whispering on the wind that came only too often through that lonely valley.

No understanding ever came to her over the matter. She'd never expected any to begin with. There was little about the world that she found that she understood or saw with any real clarity. She _couldn't_ understand it, no matter _how_ hard she tried. So she didn't. Her age prevented such knowledge, she knew this. Her short years limited her experience, bound her mind, as was the way with youth.

And Adrie's purpose, remained vague . . . empty.

* * *

The rocky out cropping that over-looked the valley of her residence was not one that was in any way unique to the numerous others surrounding it, yet it was the very same one that she would return to time and time again. It was the only way she remembered it being.

It was a place that was not far from her home, and caused her no danger in travelling to frequently. The village she lived in was a small, quiet and quaint place. Composed of mostly farmers and horse-breeders; men of the simple trades. The village was situated in the belly of the large valley that turned green in the spring, coming alive with low-lying flora in some places.

The valley itself was in the northern regions of the land of the Horse Masters, according to the elder villagers. Not much of the land's matters were spoken of, only matters that directly concerned the village and its inhabitants. The Riders – the land's guardians – would come around at times, bringing news of the Mark. That was the only time Adrie ever heard anyone speak of grander concerns. When the Riders were away, no one spoke of anything beyond their small village.

She moved easily through the long grass, which was turning brown with the lateness of the year, as she approached the small village. She could see her neighbours bustling about, between the houses, stables and storage sheds. There was no lack of chores to be done. Winter was fast approaching, and much still had to be done in preparation for it. No doubt there would be tasks for her as well.

She hurried into the village, heading straight for the stables. It was a small building, but likely the best kept and well managed in the village. As with most of the Riddermark, the people of her village prided themselves primarily of the excellent breed of their steeds. The residents of the building were even better kept; being the primary concern of most of the village, but of one man especially.

She approached the man, Egill, who was at the rear of the stables, turning over the hay of the last stall. The stallion usually resided within it was absent, likely being taken for his exercises by Egill's son, Ulfr. She hopped up onto the ledge of the short partitioning wall, noticeably startling the elderly man.

"Have any work for me, Egill?" Adrie asked him once he'd seen her, "I've been lacking in my duties lately."

He shook his head, his hand on his chest to steady his erratic breathing. "Nay, child," he replied breathlessly, "Day's work is almost done here. Can't think of much else to be done, honestly."

"Damn," she swore quietly, now beginning to regret her visit to the cliffs.

"Where've you been all day, anyway?" Egill went on to question her. He did not sound angry, not to her, but more curious.

"The valley cliffs," she told him honestly, "Looking for maybe a new spot to hunt." Her reason was embellished. Her pain was personal, not to be shared with those who had long been healed.

Egill shook his head at him, continuing with his chores. "Caution, child," he warned her, "Danger is quick coming back to these parts." He paused a moment, freezing before continuing on in a lower voice, "Not that it's ever left."

She smiled at his concern. "I am well on my own, Egill," she reassured him, jumping from the ledge, landing effortlessly on the ground.

"Of course," he replied, and she was almost sure that he was simply humouring her, "Beorn is wondering when you will be going for hunt again. Says he's running low on meat."

Certainly the village's butcher would be concerned over such a thing. Adrie's favoured trade was taking the hunt. Not many others in the village were ever up to the task, and she'd learned much in that field from her late mother. Due to such an interest, Beorn, their local butcher, had fast become a friend to her and her mother, taking her under his wing in some respects upon her mother's passing.

"I will be going on the morrow," Adrie told him dutifully, a smile playing on her youthful features, "Beorn never has any need to worry; he should know that by now."

Egill smiled back at her. "You should see Finna before you retire," he informed her, "She has preserves for you."

Egill's wife, Finna, had always been kind to her. Even before her mother had passed. Finna had taken upon herself the role of the community's matriarch in general. And, though she helped all, Adrie found herself more prone to Finna's care than others.

Nodding in thanks, Adrie made her way from the stables, a small guilt still playing on her conscience. She was a girl different than the others her age of her own village and the ones surrounding them. The village folk were still caring and supporting of her, however. There was still no denying the fact that she did not belong to these lands as they all did.

After a quick stop at Finna's home, Adrie gathered all that the elder woman had for her and hastily made her way home to rest. Growing girls needed their rest, as Beorn and the other villagers like to tell her. Especially when they were leaving for the hunt the following morrow.

* * *

The day was fair for the lateness of the year. Though the air was crisp, the skies were clear from the break of day, and the wind was quiet.

Adrie left before anyone else had woken. She had far to go to find any worthy game, and she wanted to be back to the safety of the village before night fell.

At midday, Finna went to the young girl's home to deliver the preserves she had forgotten to give the girl the previous evening, even though she was aware of Adrie's absence. When she was on her way to take her son to help her husband in the stables again, she was not the only one startled by the presence of a stranger wandering in the town's center. She hastily led her son away, along with a growing crowd of others.

The man was tall, and hooded. He was clad in dark, travel-stained clothing, built lightly for quick and easy passage. His items were few, carried in a small travel sack on his back. He was armed with a long sword at his side, and a bow and quiver of arrows on his back.

One elderly man did not see this strange man, due to the large load he was carrying in his arms. He started when the stranger grasped him by his arm, causing him to drop his supplies. The old farmer stared up at the man, confusion covering his wrinkled features.

"Pardon, Master," his voice rasped from behind his hood.

The old man froze, a brief glaze of fear crossed his features. His gaze went down to the stranger's hand on his arm, keeping him from going anywhere. "Yes?"

The man's grip loosened, and he turned his head, as if trying to spot someone. "There is a woman and her daughter somewhere in these parts," he explained, "She is far older than she looks, and her girl is not more than fifteen summers."

Understanding became apparent on the farmer's face, followed soon by a certain sadness. "I know of whom you speak, stranger. A girl, yes, lives here, dark haired and fair features," he said, "Her house is there," He pointed to a small house, quite similar to the others, not two hundred strides from them, "She would be out hunting now. Why do you ask?"

The stranger's gaze shifted to the house, looking upon it for only a moment before turning back to the old man. "And her mother, sir?"

The farmer sighed, shifting slightly before turning back to the strange man. "She's been living alone for near five summers and winters now. Her mother died."

The hooded stranger froze, gripping the old man's arm once more, and throwing his hood back. "You are certain of this?"

The old farmer was not surprised at this man's reaction, after seeing the pain in his eyes. She must have someone dear to him. The farmer nodded sadly. "I am afraid to say so," he said, "Everyone in the village was grieved by her death. They were strange to us, yes, but we welcomed them as such. So lovely they both were, arriving here. It's true, her mother was strong, and a gifted hunter. The girl inherited so much. When her mother passed, we helped Adrie as best we could-"

"_Adrie_?" the stranger interrupted him, seemingly perturbed by the name.

"Yes," the old man replied, "It is the name her mother called her by, and so, we all do." The old man examined the stranger's disturbed, saddened gaze. "It seems, stranger, that you should be privy to such knowledge. I might be a peasant but I am no simpleton. You are a kin to her, I can tell so much."

He smiled briefly, nodding to excuse his reaction. "I have only ever known her by another name, it startled me."

The old man nodded in understanding. "There is nothing to excuse. I know her mother's death must be of some gruesome surprise to you as well. I am sorry you had to hear of it in such a manner."

The stranger adverted his gaze, once again examining the small village. A moment passed before he turned back to the old man. "Thank you sir." He said quickly and quietly, before moving on.

* * *

"You brought back quite the catch I see!"

Adrie grinned at Beorn as she laid the animals across his work space. It had not been a bad day for her hunt, but nor had it been great. She was satisfied with her accomplishment; the meat would feed a few for a few days. She had managed to snare a group of fair sized rabbits, and had come across a small fawn that she'd felled with an arrow.

"It was not a bad day," she admitted breathlessly, her fatigue evident on her features. She was glad to finally be able to go home and relax until morning.

Beorn nodded as he examined the kills, counting exactly how much she'd managed to bring in. "My goodness, girl," he shook his head, "It still baffles me how in the hell you manage to hunt so well." He looked up at her with a wide grin. "Yer mum taught you well."

Adrie smiled back at him bashfully, blushing at his compliment. "Thanks, Beorn," she muttered, "Think I could get a share of the fawn when your done with it. It's been a while since I've eaten any meat but rabbit."

He chuckled at her. "Will do, girlie," he laughed, "Ye just go home and get some rest. Growing girls like you need it. 'Specially when they've been out on the hunt all damn day!"

She nodded in agreement, turning to leave, laughing at his paternal care.

"Oh, one more thing, though!" Beorn shouted after her, stopping her before she left.

Adrie turned back, questioning the man with her gaze.

His face was slightly more sullen, he'd begun sharpening one of his blades. "Thrydn came to me earlier this day," he explained to her, "Said a man had come 'round, asking 'bout you and your mum. Not two hours past noon. Tall, dark, wandering type."

Adrie froze, startled to hear something of the sort. She, in all honesty, did not know what to think. Part of her was frightened that someone was searching her, specifically, out. Another, stronger part was dangerously curious.

"He said the man meant no harm, and didn't appear to either, but thought you should know anyway," Beorn continued, starting in on one of the hares, "But, be careful. Either way."

Adrie nodded stiffly, her previous jovial mood now dampened. She gave the butcher a quick departing smile, and left his shop in haste. Her feet hit the ground hard as she hurried to reach her home. Her nerves were more than a little on edge. It was one of the habits her mother had unintentionally taught her over the years. For longer than Adrie could remember, her mother had never liked the thought of foreigners arriving in or even around the small village, though they were foreigners themselves. It was for good reason. The last time anyone strange had showed up . . .

She slammed the door to her small home open, immediately throwing her hunting weapons to the floor in distress. Thoughts of her mother's death always did this to her. It was ridiculous; it had been five years! Her frame fell to the floor in dismay, heavy breathing betraying her into sobs. She did her best to stem the oncoming tears, but it would be in vain. It always happened like this. . .

Her eye caught a movement in the corner, and panic surged through her entire being. Her senses were suddenly on high alert, noticing, for the first time, the dark figure in the corner. She had no time to think of why it was there or how it arrived, but only time for acting. She bolted for the door, only a few strides from her.

The man – or what she thought was a man – was quicker than she. He had reached the door first, and moved into her way. His hood was up, hiding his face from her, but she could still tell this man was not one to be challenged nor reckoned with. For a moment, she might have thought him to be of the Riders, but knew that would not be so.

She diverted her attention then, instead racing for her discarded weapons on the floor. With a quickness that surprised even her, she had knocked an arrow onto the strong of her bow and had it aimed at this strange man, instantly stilling his motion toward her.

"Who are you?" Adrie demanded aggressively, her lungs heaving from the adrenaline, "Why are you here?!"

She could almost sense, if not see, the smile he wore. "Do you honestly think that you would win against me, girl?"

She snorted at him in response. "It matters not," she declared, "This is _my_ home. I'm armed."

His movements were quicker that what she could see. She heard the sharp sting of metal, felt the blade against the arrow she held aimed. A moment later, the arrow head lay abandoned on the floor, and the man, holding an unsheathed blade at his side.

Startled, and more than a little frightened now, Adrie dropped the bow and what remained of her arrow. She held her arms up in forfeit, hoping that if he meant to kill her, he would make it quick. "Wh – what do you want?" she stuttered, backing up, further into her home.

The man removed his hood then, revealing his face to her. He, too, held up his free hand, as if surrendering to _her_. "I am not here to hurt you," he reassured her calmly, and due to some strange change, Adrie found herself believing him.

"Then why?!" Adrie was a little more than upset then. She frightened, relieved, curious and angry all at once. It was hard to decipher between the emotions this man brought to her. There was something about his face, the way he talked, it was all too familiar to her. . .

"To protect you from those who would," he replied, his dark eyes shining in the dying fire. He must have lit one when he arrived, as she was always careful to put hers out before leaving.

Adrie stared at him, furrowing her brow at him, confusion setting over her. "Who would want to hurt _me_?"

"It is not the time," his reply was swift as he suddenly moved forward, grasping her by her shoulders, staring her hard in the eye.

Moments passed as Adrie found herself transfixed by this man's gaze. It comforted her, her previous turmoil now begin to fade. She believed his claim of wishing to protect her, she could see the truth in his eye. "Who are you?" she asked again, her voice calmer now, quiet and composed, "Why would you want to protect me?"

He sighed through his nose. He smiled quickly, before letting her out of his grasp. "I knew your mother," he answered her.

She stared up at him. Many people had known her mother. Of course, her mother had had an entire life before these plains. Adrie had always known that on some level. This man must have been someone close to her mother to want to protect her daughter; a bond that must have been in place by birth. His face was so familiar, and expression so similar to the one her mother always wore. Features so close to the ones of her mother, dark eyes, dark hair, a stately tallness, all _just_ like her mother's.

"How did you know my mother?" Adrie asked of him, her voice slow, careful.

The man let out a slow breath, pausing to gather his words. "She was my older sister," he told her carefully, "Born to our parents, Arathorn and Gilrean, not three years before I."

Adrie froze. Her mind was almost numb from shock. Never had she ever known anything of her family beyond vague memories and her mother's words. And her mother had never mentioned anything of a sibling.

She gazed up at the strange man, examining his features closely. There was such a similarity between him and her mother, that Adrie was inclined to believe him without question. His words, so genuine, his eyes told her no lie, either. She drew in a deep breath at last, turning her gaze to the floor, so that he would not see the gleam in her eye.

"She's dead, you know."

The words left her mouth without effort. She had to tell him. If this man was her mother's sibling, then he had the right.

"I've heard," he sighed, the emotion thick in his voice.

Adrie turned her gaze back to him, her heart suddenly aching for him. "And you never got to say good bye."

"No."

There was a long and thick silence between the two of them. Adrie did not know what else she could say or do to comfort him. Her own pain was great, but she could hardly even comprehend what it would have felt like if she had not even been able to farewell her mother. The quaint grave that had been made in her honour, by both Adrie and the village folk; even they had been given the chance to say their final farewells. This man, her _brother_, had not.

There was still one thing she could do for this man, so that maybe he could gain some closure over his sister's death. Adrie was careful with her words, as to not tread inconsiderately over fragile territory.

"Would you like me to take you to her?"

* * *

_- - Yikes, I know Aragorn was to have come from a long line of only-sons, but I had to. It's the only way this story could work. If you're intent on hunting me down on killing me, I beg you to wait. Not all hope for the concept is lost!_

_- Don't forget to R+R!_

**_kat_**


	3. Chapter Two

_**"Exit Music (For a Film)" by Radiohead inspiring this chapter(music only, not the lyrics), and is henceforth unofficially name so.**_

**_Ok, so I figure that even if you hate me for giving Aragorn a sister, I still haven't strayed from the canon _too_ much. Only _sons_, and she is a _daughter_. After analysing how even in more 'progressive' societies in Middle-earth, women generally still aren't given positions of power (unless acting as a regent – Theoden requesting Eowyn to rule at Edoras during the Pelennor for example), I don't particularly believe she would have ever had much of a chance being the _true_ heir of Elendil, and assuming the throne of Gondor. So there; don't kill me._**

**_Here you guys go, you all get _another_ info session! Don't you just _love_ me?? But really, I apologize for this drivel and promise that it will get good soon._**

**.warnings. **not a lot for now. some swearing. darker stuff, especially later on.

**.disclaimers. **obviously i own nothing from the mind of the great Tolkein.

* * *

**Blood Pact**

**_- - Chapter Two - - _**

* * *

Aragorn.

She'd learned his name to be. Born to Arathorn and Gilrean, just as her mother had been. He was a ranger, from the North, hailing from a land she'd never before heard of.

He said he'd travelled all the realms Middle-earth had to offer, though he _did_ admit to embellishing some of his stories. But only a little bit. Adrie found him to be quite like her mother, which surprised her very little. The younger children in the village always looked up to their older siblings, following them, copying them, worshipping them. She couldn't help but try to imagine him and her mother as young children, playing and learning together, Aragorn constantly on her tail, yearning to be like his older sister.

The thought warmed and saddened her heart. No doubt they had likely been close. Not having a sibling to miss, herself, she could never know the pain she now saw on this man's face, but knew in her heart how horrible it must have been to him. She missed her mother, loved her, and cursed the Valar for taking her.

It was why Adrie chose to take this man, Aragorn, her _uncle_, to visit her mother's grave. Though she wouldn't dare admit it, this was what she needed, too. Even if it was only in her mind, visiting her mother's grave made her feel as if she were going to her mother herself.

Adrie was silent as they approached the small glade by the river, and, picking up on her silence, Aragorn was the same. They'd been walking for some time, now, with hardly a word spent. It was appropriate, neither minded the absence of conversation, as after all, there really was nothing to be said.

He must have known the sight of the grave when they came within seeing distance of it, for his gait stiffened, and his breath a little more uneasy.

There was a small grove of trees and plants by the river where the valleys ran short and started to become flat grasslands. The glade within these trees was where Adrie had chosen for her mother to be put to rest. It was obvious that the plains were not somewhere her mother truly belonged. It was during the short times Adrie was taken by her mother outside their small village, to small forests and other places, that she learned her mother had always had a liking of the true wild. Her mother never mentioned it, but Adrie found it to be a blatant fact.

The small graveyard kept by the villagers did not seem the right place to bury her mother, so instead chose this place. The others in the village accepted and understood her decision; many agreed with her as well.

The grave itself was a simple mound, fit into the clearing, grass thick and light green in color grown a top it, a sign of the years that had passed. There was a small stone plaque inlayed into the ground at the base of the mound, crude but caringly fashioned to display her mother's name. All around, there were flowers, fresh and wilting, lain down by either herself or her neighbours in the village.

Adrie paused at the entrance into the glade, and Aragorn did, too, as he took in the sight of his sister's grave. It could not have been an easy thing for him to bear, Adrie knew this. The expression on his face betrayed him true feelings, too. She watched in silence as he slowly took the few steps forward before kneeling at the foot of the grave, bowing his head in prayer and respect.

Slowly, Adrie made her way forward as well, lowering herself onto her knees before the grave as well. Still, no words were spoken even as she remained there, and eventually bowed her head, too praying. The birds chirped softly, and the waters of the river trickled lightly. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn brown in the late autumn months. A shiver went up Adrie's back, as she realized her mother's presence around them. She opened her eyes as a breeze came through the glade, Aragorn suddenly opening his eyes and looking about as well.

"She may have passed," Adrie broke the silence, speaking softly, and pausing to meet Aragorn's gaze, "But I don't think she's ever really left me."

He gave her a sweet smile. "Knowing my sister, I wouldn't think so," he mused.

Adrie let her gaze once again drop to the plaque bearing her mother's name. The sorrow that had so ardently overtaken her those years ago still felt fresh in her heart. It took all the strength she had to keep going on when her mother died, and now she was so tired being on her own. She looked up to Aragorn, hoping that maybe, her uncle would take her away from it all.

She shook her head briefly, dismissing her thoughts and cursing herself for thinking so foolishly.

Her attention was again caught as she noticed him moving then, beyond the simple action of breathing. She watched him with minute fascination as he reached forward, laying a flower down on the base of the burial mound, just beneath the stone plaque.

Adrie studied the flower for only a moment, before a smile came to her features. "Hmm, that one was her favourite," she said quietly, realizing he must have taken it from the small garden by her house without her noticing.

Looking down at her, Aragorn smiled back at her. "I know," he replied with a light and proud jest.

"She said that they don't grow in these parts naturally," Adrie went on, gazing on the flower again, "She tried so hard to grow them, and now I keep them alive the best I can. I know why they would not grow here, this land is so harsh, so unforgiving that _nothing_ wants to grow here. They're such delicate things, so beautiful, I couldn't even begin to imagine the place these things are from."

Aragorn let out a short laugh. "Aye, it _is_ true, the place the niphredil – that is what they're called – hails from is a truly beautiful and wonderful place. It is the land your father is from," he explained to her, noticing her reaction to the mentioning of her father, "I think that is why she loved this particular blossom so."

Adrie sighed, again letting the silence fall between them. "It must be horrible," she said, her tone solemn and cold, "Learning of her death like this . . .never getting to say goodbye."

"It is," Aragorn admitted, "Sadness is the least of what I feel. I thought I'd come to find the two of you here together, not only you. I am not only sad for myself, but for you as well, Adrie. I'm sad that you've lived so long on you own without anyone to care for you."

"I have done quite alright on my own," she responded quickly, seeking to reassure him, "I am glad for your concern, but I should not be a cause for it."

"You really are like your mother, Adrie," he mused briefly.

Smiling momentarily at his words, she quickly went on. "I never knew I had an uncle, honestly, and certainly no other family other than small mentions of my father," she told him thoughtfully. She paused in her speech, and a thought suddenly came to her head. "Did the two of you have any other siblings? Are _you_ married? Do I have any cousins? What about my father's family?"

Aragorn couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm as he placed his hand on her shoulder. "Calm down, my girl," he said, still laughing, "You will be told everything in time."

Adrie smiled, hanging her head in embarrassment. Her sorrow was great, but the joy she felt at finding family she never knew she had was even greater still. She exhaled heavily, turning her attentions once again to her mother's grave. "She was missed when she passed," she told him, wanting to know this information, "All the villagers, _everyone_, was involved in her funeral. They all went to great lengths to commemorate her passing. It was the first time I'd ever seen a Rohirric funeral."

He nodded, a small, reminiscent smile playing on his feature "She was always a good, kind woman. I'm not surprised your village was affected so," he said, "The time we spent together in our youth was wonderful – but far too short-lived."

"What happened?" Adrie asked, concern in her voice and on her face, "I mean, how did it come to this? Why did we have to come all the way out here, away from everybody? Why couldn't we have lived with you and whoever else. I know Mum had a past somewhere, she told me parts about it, but never why she left and took me here."

The ranger simply smiled at her, smiling sadly, though knowingly, before dismissing the topic altogether. "So you think you could let your uncle stay with you a while?"

She knew his motives even as he spoke, but could not help but feel her heart swell at the idea of him staying with her. "I just found long lost family and you think I'm just going to leave you to the wolves? Who do you think raised me?"

Again, he laughed, knowing just how true her words were. "I suppose you're right," he said thoughfully, before turning back to his sister's grave one last time. "Lissen ar' maska'lalaith tenn' lye omentuva. Quel esta."

Adrie watched him and listened to his speech with a certain awe. There had been time when her mother had uttered words of such a language, but she'd never learned any of these words, or what that language was. Perhaps that would another thing she could learn from this man. He simply seemed like the type of person to look up to, and she briefly wondered if she ever had before. He _did_ seem familiar to her, and it wasn't just his surprising resemblance to her mother.

Aragorn plucked a flower from the burial mound, a white one that Adrie recognized immediately. "Well, some things _do_ wish to grow here," he said with a look in her direction, "You just have to find them."

"Simbelmyne only grow on the graves of the dead," Adrie replied with a distant tone, "They are not like those niphredils."

He smiled at her childish surliness. "No, but they are a flower all the same," he countered, climbing to his feet and offering her his hand, "And should be appreciated as such."

With only a moment's hesitation, Adrie accepted his assistance and climbed to her feet also. It was hard for her to deny, this man's wisdom was nearly unmatchable, and the warmth he presented her with, so very familiar to her. A sudden flash of memory passed quickly through her mind, leaving her previously sullen face with a light smile on her face. "I think I remember you," she said, the smile in her voice as well.

Aragorn raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "Really?" he inquired, evidently unable to trust her claim.

Understanding his doubt, she nodded slowly and continued carefully. "Barely, but I do," Adrie explained, "From when I was really young . . .when we were still living where ever it was we were living before we came to this place."

Aragorn smiled pleasantly at her revelation, but she could see the concern he sought to mask. "Do you have many memories like that?"

It was this time Adrie's turn to raise her eyebrow at her uncle. "How many memories do you have from your infancy?"

"I suppose," he admitted with defeat as he rolled his eyes at her smarting remark, leading her from the glade with a gentle hand on her back.

The sun was long set behind the western hills, and Aragorn was quite aware of the many dangers the land held. And though she may have known or believed it herself, these were dangers that Adrie was quite unready to face.

"Adrie," the ranger broke the silence as they walked, a question begging to be answered finally surfacing.

"Yes?" she responded without delay.

Aragorn fought for what he believed to be the right words, but soon found that there were none for what his intentions were. "What did your mother tell you about your father?"

Adrie was most definitely surprised by this question. Her posture stiffened and became ridged as she continued to walk along side him. "He was a good man," she said at last, "And died when I was very young . . .shortly before we came here. She said I look much like him, that I have his eyes." The girl paused in her speech, the slight reverie seeming to disturb her slightly. A moment passed silently, and she looked back up at him. "Why do you ask?"

He shook his head dismissively at her, wishing to discard the subject before his niece delved to deeply into realms she would wish not too."It's nothing."

However, he found that she was not so easily fooled.

"You have something to tell me, don't you?" It was not a question, but a statement. And it was not an accusatory one either.

Aragorn turned to her, smiling woefully at her. She truly was her mother's daughter, and he knew that he would have to divulge her past to her. Eventually.

"I have a _lot_ to tell you."

* * *

They reached her home before the wolves began howling.

Both figured that a small meal was in order. The two of them were famished, and Aragorn knew it to be the perfect opportunity to finally get to speak to her properly. As they ate the small but ample serving of bread, preserves and Adrie's share of her regular hunt, he listened to her stories of her life here on the Horselords' plains. She talked mostly of her hunting skills, how they'd proved to be more than useful in supplying her and her village with fresh meat. Skills that she had no doubt learned from her mother.

Adrie went on about the harshness of the plains' climate, and that though she'd lived there for longer than she could remember, it was still foreboding to even her. The villagers were all nice to her, Aragorn was glad to hear, and they took care of her when she needed it.

He foresaw the question before she asked it, likely before she even thought of it. It was simply the nature of their meeting and their more recent conversation.

"What drew you to come seek us out?"

Aragorn paused in silence and Adrie waited patient and eagerly, yearning for this answer more than any other. She knew it was more than simply a strange coincidence.

"Well, I certainly could not let my sister and my niece stay isolated out here for ever, now could I?" he jested with a light smile, even though he knew this would satiate her curiosity. The expression she gave him amusingly confirmed his suspicions, and he sighed as he elaborated with a more serious note. "It is lucky I came to look for the two of you. I could not have left you here on your own for much longer."

"My life here is fine," she informed him immediately, and coldly. He was not surprised that she took offense. "Sure, there are the winters, the famines, and whatever else, but I'm tough, a survivor. And I'm not alone. I've just finished telling you that my neighbours more than willingly help me; even when I don't need them to!"

Aragorn put his hands up in surrender. "Adrie, calm down!" he said at once, "I meant you or your neighbours no offence!" Again, he paused in his speech. "And I _am_ glad for their help toward you, but their are some things. . .things that not even _they_ could help you escape."

Any anger that she still had quickly drained from her, and was soon replaced by cold trepidation. "What do you mean by that. . . ?" she asked with wary and shaken words.

He realized too late that his words could have only served to frighten her. There was little doubt in Aragorn's mind that he would have to give her a slightly more enlightened explanation than he'd originally intended for the time.

"Your mother and I," Aragorn began, carefully, still thinking on his words, "We were both raised in Imaldris – an Elven city, on the western border of the Misty Mountains, north of here."

Adrie was silent and speechless, gazing at her uncle in awe, her food sitting forgotten in front of her. This was the first she'd heard of any detailing of her mother's past, and just how colourful it was! Adrie had only ever heard stories and folk legends of the elves. Almost everything from the villagers, and very little from her mother. She'd had her suspicions that her mother had known much more that she'd ever let on; but for it to be such a fact . . . Adrie was simply astonished.

Aragorn took note of her reaction, but said nothing as he continued on. "Our father died when I was quite young as well, so our mother took us to live there, and keep us safe." He paused then, as if unsure as to how he was to carry on, "We were, and still are, heirs to the man, Isildur – have you heard of him?"

Slowly, Adrie shook her head. Her mind was too frozen in shock to say anything of any real importance. Heritage was something her mother avoided speaking of with a passion, to both Adrie herself, and any of the townsfolk who dared raise the question.

"There are those who want to hurt us – _kill_ us – for such a heritage," he continued on ominously, staring into the slowly dying fire as he spoke, "For years, I have had to run to avoid such a fate. Your mother was no different either."

"Is this why they are dead, then?" Adrie asked hesitantly, her voice hardly above a whisper, "My parents? This heritage you speak of?"

Sighing, Aragorn shook his head grimly. "No," he replied, "I am merely telling you this to give you an understanding of why we lived with the elves, and know their ways in such the manner that we do. Their magic kept us safe, in regards to our heritage. Your parents were victims to a different fate." Aragorn paused, noticing the changing expressions upon his niece's face. As he'd both hoped and feared, she was beginning to understand. "Adrie, the deaths of your parents were no accidents. They _were_ killed."

Silence plagued the small space for far too long. The dying fire crackled, and the wind howled against the side of the small house. Neither spoke, hardly bothering to breathe as they stared into unknown space.

After far too long a while, Adrie slowly began to nod.

"I know . . ." she said quietly, surprising Aragorn with both her actions and words, "I saw it, you know." She looked up to meet his gaze. "We all thought it to be some rogue warrior, wandering from the evil realms of the east."

Aragorn now found himself to be astounded beyond all words.

Sighing, Adrie went on. "It is not uncommon you see," she continued, her voice beginning to crack with the pain of her memories, "But usually, it is the soldiers of our land who meet untimely fates . . .not our . . .not my _mother_." She stopped abruptly, hanging her head, and wiping the unwanted tears away.

He wished that he could stop her now, let her weep, and comfort her. Unfortunately, that was not the task at hand. Important matters had to be seen to.

"Adrie," Aragorn spoke, breaking the thick silence, "You are not safe here; you have to leave this place." He paused momentarily, analysing her reaction. She did not look at him, and said nothing. She stared into the fire, trying desperately to comprehend the situation she was facing. She did not react, so he continued, "You are not prepared to face the dangers ahead of you. If you stay with me, you may yet stand a chance."

Slowly, the girl turned her gaze from the fire to him. "You mean I won't live . . .if I stay here?"

"Yes," Aragorn replied honestly and grimly, "That is what I mean."

Adrie felt as if she wanted to weep. There was little left for her in this village. Work, for ever being a burden on her neighbours, perhaps some farfetched marriage agreement should she be lucky, but even more than that, this village was the only connection she had to her mother. The only life she'd ever known with her. Leaving all of this behind meant leaving everything she had with her mother behind, and Adrie was not sure if she had quite the strength to do that.

Slowly, the girl began to nod, as if hesitantly coming to terms with all that her uncle spoke. "Where are we to go?" she asked him quietly, trying not to disturb her own emotions.

"Somewhere safe," he responded with moderate haste, "Somewhere far from here."

Adrie frowned at the man's vague answer. He may have been her uncle, but she'd known him less than the evening. She was not about to leave with him without any real answers. "I am not about to embark on a journey to some ambiguous place! If - "

"_Listen_!" he interrupted, effectively silencing her angry words, "You _must_ trust me, Adrie." Aragorn took her wrist and fixed her strongly with his gaze. "I _cannot_ entrust every detail to you. Not yet. Believe me, it could mean your _life_."

She met his gaze with as much strength as she could muster. Truth be told, she was frightened, terrified even. Though she did not want to be so foolish, she was beginning to trust this man, and in her heart, she felt that she could. He was her family, the _only_ family she knew she had. The thought of leaving her the village saddened and intimidated her, but the thought of meeting and knowing her family thrilled her to no end. In her heart, the decision was obvious, it was her head that was making her doubt.

"You are sure that _not_ leaving would be unsafe?" she questioned him slowly and carefully.

He nodded. "It is unwise, and I could not allow myself to leave you here."

Again, Adrie met Aragorn's gaze. So there was decision for her. He was going to take her with him whether she agreed or not. This man really _was_ like her mother.

She adverted her gaze and tore her wrist from his grasp, reclining back into her chair and into herself. "When are we leaving?" she asked, not looking at him.

Trying his hardest not to smile, Aragorn, too, reclined in his seat. "On the morrow," he told her, "The sooner we leave, the better it will be."

Adrie smiled, trying her hardest to hide it, but knew that he'd seen regardless. She no longer was alone, without guidance or without protection. She looked back up to her uncle, genuinely glad that he was there.

"I best be getting to bed, then."

He smiled back.

"Yes, you'd best."

* * *

_Wow, they talked about **flowers**. I'm really butchering this one here, sorry._

_Next time, there IS finally action! I know, I'm excited, too. R+R!_

_-Kat_


End file.
